


Window Dressing

by Astrageth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A protective creep but a creep nonetheless, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Basira keeps calm and collected at all times, Canon-Typical Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Daisy is very much in her 'make Jon miserable' post ep 91 challenge, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Elias is an creep, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone in the archives deserves better, Fear, Friendship Repair, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon and TIm actually do care about each other, Jon and Tim manage to have a bit of reconciliation, Kidnapping, Martin makes tea, Men Crying, Non-consenual skin inspection, Nothing brings people together faster than shared trauma, So take care folks please, Terrified Characters, The Mannequins like to torment people, There is quite explict violence described in this, This is not a 'happy' happy ending but hopefully a positive one, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrageth/pseuds/Astrageth
Summary: Daisy's killing mannequins and clowns for Elias, and planning to kill Jon after the Unknowing. She decides to have some fun in the meantime by toying with her prey: tracking some of the circus/dancers and nudging them into Jon's path, then waiting until they've terrorised him before going in for the kill, technically obeying orders.As it is Tim and Jon are arguing when the mannequins pounce. Both are snatched and Jon is forced to relieve some of the horrors from his first time as a 'guest' of the Circus. It doesn't go well. Tim does what he can to help.Set in the later half of S3, this is pretty much cannon divergent straight from the off and aims to start repairing Jon and Tim's broken friendship.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 176
Collections: Rusty Kink





	Window Dressing

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to the following prompt;
> 
> Daisy's killing mannequins and clowns for Elias, and planning to kill Jon after the Unknowing. She decides to have some fun in the meantime by toying with her prey: tracking some of the circus/dancers and nudging them into Jon's path, then waiting until they've terrorised him before going in for the kill, technically obeying orders.
> 
> Jon and Tim happen to be talking at the time, still maintaining an uneasy alliance. When Nikola's minions attack and subdue them, attempting to (re-)abduct them as materials for the dance, both are deeply scared, flashing back to trauma. (The manhandling could include sexual assault, stripping to examine their skin, etc, or not.) By the time Daisy intervenes, Jon's an absolute mess, crying and incoherent, and Tim helps him through the breakdown & trauma bonds even while not doing much better himself. (Tim/Jon or platonic h/c.)
> 
> Bonuses:  
> \- Jon tries to protect Tim even when it's useless, earning some brownie points  
> \- Martin and/or Basira help with the aftermath
> 
> I have gone down the platonic route for this story but have hopefully hit on the Bonus points as well as the main part of the prompt. 
> 
> Please note the tags and the content in the prompt, this does get graphic with it's descriptions at one point but there is plenty of comfort after the hurt. I've edited the tags just to make it clear it does get decidedly violent about middle of the way through this piece.

They’d been arguing when it happened.

Jon and Tim had been _discussing_ their approaches to different avenues of research regarding the unknowing, both of them heading out of the archives convinced their own angle was the correct one, that their lead was the most likely to yield results.

Unfortunately they were both right.

Mannequins twitched and turned in shop windows and Jon _knew._

“Tim,” he cut over the other man’s theory, “run.”

“What?” Realisation sucker punched his gut, “Oh Shit.”

The figures on the street ahead were not pedestrians. It was wet Sunday afternoon, after 5pm, getting dark, more importantly. No one was about.

Old instincts from Prentiss’ attack kicked in, Jon seized Tim’s hand and hurtled back the way they’d come.

Too late. In what felt like three panicked heartbeats they were completely surrounded and shunted into an alley. Jon could feel the terror seize him, flashes of hands and scent of aloe vera assaulted him. No no no no no! Not again he couldn’t go through it again. He couldn’t. It would break him. He’d only just made it out before.

His shaking hand was still clasped in Tim’s, working to ground him against the surging panic for the moment. Tim was with him. He didn’t deserve this. Tim shouldn’t have to go through what he did.

“Stop!” Demanded Jon in his most commanding Head Archivist voice, even if he could hear the pounding of blood and the roaring of his own fears coursing through him. Too scared to even think of trying to compel an answer, “What do you want?”

“You Archivist!” came a brightly false voice, “Nikola doesn’t want you to miss the ritual and we’ve been asked to invite you.”

“Then I politely decline.”

“That is not an option Archivist.” The lead faceless mannequin explained, “Nikola said she wanted you but didn’t specify in how many pieces. I could pull all your limbs off one by one if you try to escape.”

Not ideal as an option, “I see. Well.” It was a last desperate gamble. “It sounds like Nikola only wanted the pleasure of my company and you know how particular she is so I’ll just say goodbye to my friend and come with you.”

Tim’s grip on Jon’s hand tightened.

“Oh no archivist, Nikola loves an audience, the bigger the better.”

“No, you leave him out of this, he has nothing to do with you and has no place in your games. You take me and you leave him alone.”

“Oh archivist, you seem to think you have something to bargain with! You don’t! We’re going to take the pair of you.”

“No! You leave Tim out of this! He’s got nothing to do with this!” Rage and terror were fighting for supremacy in the core of Jon, “Tim, RUN!”

A hand shot out, snatching at his throat. As more hands tightened on a violently struggling Tim.

“I could tear out your voice box Archivist, I’ve done it before, can you hear? I can do it again.”

The touch of cold plastic shocked Jon stupid, there was too much. The roaring got louder, the flashes more insistent. Hands, cold, hands, skin, hands, salves, hand, hands, hands.

“JON!”

Everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jon, Jon, JON, wake up!”

Jon startled awake with a cry, tried shaking his pounding head, a move he instantly regretted.

“Where? What?” He managed inarticulately.

“They’ve got us. Some cellar maybe. Don’t know couldn’t see, they put bags on us.” Tim’s voice was cold and clipped but underneath that Jon could hear the tightness. Tim was scared.

Jon felt his breath catch. “No, they can’t. No again. Tim, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—” He could feel his panic rising.

Hands gripped his. Warm hands. Soft real living hands holding his. Grounding him. Tim was there, Tim was with him, he could feel Tim’s back against his.

“Jon, Jon, keep it together,” managed Tim with a lot more confidence than he was feeling, “The others know we’re out, they know we were coming back soon, they’ll look for us.” Tim wasn’t actually all that sure of those facts but it was something he was going to keep telling himself anyway because otherwise he was probably going to fall apart right here, right now.

Jon tried to speak, tried to say it was no use but the fear was overwhelming, he knew what was coming. He was trembling so badly he couldn’t feel the same tremors in Tim’s hands. Instead a low keening whimper escaped his lips.

The sound shook Tim to his core.

Tim didn’t like Jon all that much, too much had happened, Jon had made things worse by trying to close himself off and shutting people out and it had got them all hurt, had led to Tim and Martin being in trapped in that Michael-the-hands corridors for God only knew how long. Everything was even worse now. Elias was an actual murderer and he couldn’t leave the archives. He couldn’t blame Jon for Sasha but it still hurt. And yet. He still cared about Jon. Shared experiences and all that plus, underneath all the idiocy and pomposity and fucking paranoia Jon was a good man, an idiot with a death wish most of the time but a good man.

Jon had been captured before, he’d been a prisoner of the circus for a whole month and he’d tried to spare Tim whatever had happened. He’d tried to protect him, had tried to save him from whatever was going to happen. And that had to count for something.

“Jon, we’re going to get out of here.”

Footsteps approached.

Jon’s breath hitched up half an octave

Tim braced himself, feeling his heart speed up. For all he was good at fronting Tim was just as terrified as Jon. He had no idea what was going to happen but it was probably going to hurt. The noise Jon was making reminded him of an abused dog he’d once befriended, shaking and whimpering whenever anyone came near. That was decidedly not encouraging.

Things went from quietly horrifying to loudly horrifying in a distressingly short amount of time.

They were swarmed with mannequins. Their bonds cut from where they were tied back to back, seated on spindly chairs.

“Now we’ve got what we need it’s time to have a look at what we’re working with, Nikola warned us about your poor skin Archivist, and I’m sure your friend is the same.”

Tim didn’t have a clue what that meant.

“Strip them.”

Oh.

Jon screamed. Full bloodied and horrified as the hands descended on him. Cold hard fingers gripped and snatched and tore at his clothes, he didn’t care what noises he was making he couldn’t process it, everything was loud and bright and utterly overwhelming. The layers of trauma, experienced and experiencing was too much. All he knew was the word ‘NO!’ shrieking on repeat in his brain. His breathing became ragged, howling whenever he had enough air in his lungs.

“FUCKING LEAVE HIM ALONE!” The hands were just as merciless to Tim but it looked like they were actually tearing Jon apart. Tim knew fear, he knew horror, this, this was all of that and then some but if he focused on Jon he could ignore to an extent his own shaking, his own terror threatening to close his throat. He felt the rage he kept banked and let roar to the fore, fighting and struggling with everything he had. These were the same things that took Danny from him.

But there were just too many of them.

Both of them were pinned to the wall, Tim had a sudden image of butterflies in glass cases and really hoped they weren’t planning on literally pinning them. He hastily swallowed down rising bile.

“There you are, what a lot of fuss over nothing. We just want to inspect you, see what lovely skin you have and how best we can use it. If you’re lucky we might even moisturise you.”

Jon made a choked sobbing sound.

Tim felt scrutinised in a way he’d never been before, a gaze that he couldn’t hide from. Well fuck it. He refused to give them the satisfaction of his terror. He might be shaking and his heart might be pounding against his ribs but he met their gaze defiantly, his charming smile warped into a sneer to wear like armour.

A plastic hand traced down his cheek.

“You have some fire in you, it’s a shame we need you else you would have made a lovely gift to the desolation, Nikola loves to give gifts to her friends and Jude’s been feeling so slighted recently.” The thing looked towards Jon’s still-healing hand.

“Fuck off.”

The hand cracked against his cheekbone, thankfully not hard enough to fracture it.

“That’s enough.”

The feel of the cold wall against his very naked back had begun to draw Jon reluctantly back to reality but the sound of strike snapped him into the present.

“Don’t you touch him.” He growled. Tim was _his_ assistant, his _responsibility_ and God help him he hoped still enough of a friend beneath everything.

“Oh my Archivist, so you do have bite!”

**_“Why are you doing this? What do you need? Where are you going to take us?”_ **

“Because the ritual is nearly prepared for in the wax museum of Great Yarmouth and that will be glorious but once the Dance is complete everything will change, people will want to dance and change faces and spin and twist as the music plays and carousel rides. We need your skin Archivist, we’d planned to take the old Archivist’s and the foolish librarian’s skins when we lost you but now we’ve found you again! Is that good?! After we complete the dance we will welcome the stranger there will be no more unknowing, everyone will dance, there will be a thrill of new, faceless partners but the fear will all taste the same. The world will be one giant kaleidoscope of pain and pirouette but there will no variation and I will miss that. So before we take you to Nikola at the ritual site I’ve always loved to play with my food.”

The Mannequin paused, realising what it had said. It sighed, tilting its head to one side.

“Oh, oh now Archivist that was a very foolish thing to do. Too bad no one will be able to listen to your statement. I think I’ll inspect you first.”

With that Jon was bodily picked up, he cried out writhing and squirming before being laid out on a waiting table. Whatever fire had been ignited in Jon at seeing Tim hurt was quickly doused when he realised what it had said.

“NO! Please! Not again! NO! I can’t! Don’t! Just kill me!” The Archivist fought tooth and nail trying to escape the inevitable for as long as possible, “Get off me! Please! Don’t! Get—”

Fabric was forced into his mouth hard enough he nearly choked, quickly bound over in place. His voice once again stopped and silenced. “That’s better, I wouldn’t want you to ask any more questions.”

The lead mannequin moved to the other side of the table facing the archival assistant, “Now I can let his friend see, after all they care so much about each other, I wouldn’t want to worry the pretty one about what I’m doing to the Archivist.”

Tim froze at the look of pure terror that shot through Jon. He’d never heard Jon that terrified, that desperate, even when they were being smothered in worms. At the words ‘Not again’ Tim felt his stomach drop through the floor. Jon clearly knew what was coming and he’d rather die than go through it again. So, that whole month in circus wasn’t just being tied to a chair like he’d made out.

Jesus Fuck.

The way Jon was fighting, the way he screamed and looked? Fucking Christ. They’d hurt him hadn’t they? They’d really, _really_ hurt him. Tim was really grateful he had no first-hand experience of sexual abuse but he knew that look. He had a one night standee who’d completely freaked out on him when he’d said some endearment. Tim had stopped immediately, backed off, made some tea and listened whilst they explained, they’d ended up staying the night, Tim on the sofa because he might be a charming Casanova but he was a gentleman above all else.

The fucking circus had done that to Jon.

They’d inflicted that on Jon. And he’d been all alone.

He struggled harder, he might have issues as long as his arm with Jon but no one deserved to look that scared. No one deserved to be violated like that. They were absolutely fucked and this was going to hurt. The reality struck home hard. In his head he’d accepted he’d probably die taking out the unknowing but he’d not factored in having to watch people he knew suffer, once had been enough. This was horrific and he was going to do all he could to make it stop.

“Fucking stop it! If we’re for this fucking ritual just take us there, stop this show, we know you’re in charge. You don’t have to convince me.”

“Oh but I want to, and you don’t listen Timothy.”

Fuck it. “HELP!” Screamed Tim at the top of his lungs, “HELP! IN THE CELLAR! PLEASE! SOMEONE! ANYONE!”

Another blow cracked across his other cheek before a similar gag was forced on him.

“What silly boys. You need to learn a lesson in manners.”

At the second strike rage flashed through Jon, nearly managing to buck off the table.

“How interesting, he seems most upset when I hurt you. Let’s see what happens when it’s reversed.”

It moved around the table, its blank face somehow still staring at Tim before it placed its hands on Jon. Tim was too terrified to look away, convinced she was about to start tearing chunks out of him.

For one brief moment Tim met Jon’s frantic eyes before the fingers moved and Jon’s eyes screwed shut, bracing for the worst.

The mannequin began a slow, tortuous examination of Jon, fingers finding every inch of skin no matter how much Jon struggled. Pressing and probing into him, leaving nothing untouched. His trembling turned into actual shaking when it reached his nipples.

He made a strangled noise when it touched the first one, squirming away as much as he could from the unwanted sensation. It delighted in his discomfort, repeating the motion with the other one, pressing it in gently, delicately tracing the areola that had raised and ridged in the cold air.

It moved on as Jon continued to fight, ignoring the archivist’s struggles. He was being held down easily so it took its time feeling each and every rib, carefully tracing the ridge of bones. Jon was not a built man, just about counting as tall being within a whisper of 6ft he was like drainweed, scrawny and all sharp angles. Laying as he was, it could feel every bone in his chest.

Hard fingers dappled over his abdomen in a mockery of playfulness, seemingly fascinated with the change from unforgiving bone to pliable flesh, it pressed experimentally on to his diaphragm before reaching his belly button.

Never in all his life had Jon felt cursed to have an ‘innie’.

A long, thin finger, snaked its way into him making Jon feel sick, it didn’t hurt but it just felt wrong, an unwanted digit thrusting into him. He knew it to be prelude of what was to come.

The hands continued to be offensively gentle, smoothing over his flesh, pressing lightly, testing for discolouration and elasticity. When it reached his hips tears began to escape his closed lids, shame and misery burning on his cheeks.

Cold hands reached his groin.

“My, my, Archivist, Nikola was right there really isn’t much of you, and you most certainly need to be moisturised before we leave.” Jon shuddered again, revving up his struggles, It ignored him in favour of mocking him further, “You’re so small and helpless, even where it counts the most.”

Tim swore he could hear the sadistic giggle coming from the thing as Jon began to really fight, sobs rising in his chest getting caught in his throat. When Tim had wanted Jon taken a down a peg or two, to be humbled a bit to really seem like he was taking everything in, taking it to heart, to actually fucking care about things other than his own tunnel vision this wasn’t what he’d wanted. Jon was an idiot who didn’t communicate well about anything or really plan properly or even share his plans and he was still deeply pissed about the stalking but Jon didn’t deserve this.

No one did.

Jon might be somehow be beholden to a spooky eye God but he didn’t want any of it to happen. Didn’t want any of them trapped there. The unfairness of it all was too much.

Tim tried to close his eyes.

“Oh no Timothy. You will watch this. You’re part of the eye too. Your job is to watch.”

Hands gripped his head and fingers swam into view.

Tim kept his eyes open, more out of fear they’d accidently stab them out of his head with their shop-sharp digits. If Jon had to endure then so did he apparently.

Tim felt sick as the mannequin’s fingers explored Jon’s cock, lifting it up gently, moving it carefully from side to side then up and down. Jon writhed and struggled his sobs getting louder and more panicked. He strained against the hands holding him down, crying and writhing as they manipulated him, eventually moving on to his scrotum, handling his balls delicately. Jon’s legs were forced apart even as he screamed into the gag before careful fingers continued to explore along his taint until they could reach no further whilst he was in that position.

“Hmm, I think you could do with shaving before we head back Archivist, Nikola does like her skins smooth and you’re so hairy. I think we have an old razor around here, I can do very delicate work. I hardly ever slip.” It paused. For something without a face it was doing a great job of looking gleeful. “Do you how long it takes to peel a man? It’s not as simple as a banana though that would be more fun. It’s easier to cut a nice neat ring around the base and peel off like a sock but for you? I think a long split lengthways, tip to root so I can peel off both sides and keep as much skin as possible and that way it splits neatly between each side too. Lovely.”

Tim felt his stomach lurch and Jon cried in earnest now, sobs wracking his body as he fought in vain.

“Now let’s see what we have here.”

Cold hands were still pressing on his thighs, attempting to force them further apart.

Tim, tears spiking his horrified eyes, prayed to a god he didn’t believe in as he tried to mentally prepare himself to watch Jon being digitally raped whilst being utterly powerless to stop it.

Jon was still shrieking into the gag when the first shot rang out.

Chaos quickly descended but Daisy’s aim was faster.

In what felt like a few heartbeats Tim had gone from being held in place having to watch his boss endure slow sexual assault to being surrounded by broken bits of dying? Dead? Mannequins.

Tim staggered against the wall for support, breathing heavily just managing to stay this side of hyperventilation. Daisy crossed the room and got in his face, Tim was honestly too dazed to process much until she caught his chin, tearing the gag free from him, forcing him to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?!” Tim snapped through ragged breaths

“Fine,” She conceded, “are you hurt?”

“Face, got hit, I’ll live.”

“Good. You deal with him and I’ll sort this mess out.”

‘Deal with Him’ Tim gaze returned reluctantly to the table where Jon had curled up into a protective ball the second his limbs had been released, still sobbing too hard to move beyond that or even take the gag out.

Fuck.

Tim ran a hand over his face, first things first. He looked about for the remains of his clothes, thankfully despite the tearing they were still wearable, just. He scrambled into his own stuff in record time before approaching Jon, gently draping the ruins of Jon’s shirt over his exposed skin.

“Jon? Boss? It’s okay, they’ve gone now. Daisy got them. We’ve got to go.”

Tim carefully placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. He startled like a cat, shot upwards flailing against whoever might be about to hurt him next.

Tim had seen a lot of things in his life but if he ever managed to never see that level of utter, UTTER terror in someone’s face then he was counting that as a win for life.

For a moment Jon had frozen, facing Tim, too petrified to move.

Tim very gently reached behind his head and undid the gag.

As the fabric was drawn away from him Jon seemed to crumple into himself. Tim threw caution to the wind, giving into his own desperate need to be reassured and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, drawing Jon against him as they both shook. Jon clung on to Tim as though his life depended on it letting out a keening wail before descending into wracking sobs.

Every big brother instinct Tim had ever had came swinging into the fore. Tim pulled Jon closer to him, one hand on the back of his head, rocking him ever so slightly. Right now it didn’t matter that this was his boss, a man for whom up until this point Tim had steadily been building contempt for, right now, this was the man who’d tried desperately to protect him from these monsters even though it was useless, had tried to get them to leave him alone and deliberately drawn their ire on himself to protect Tim. Even if it meant revisiting obviously horrific trauma. This was the man who’d survived with him. And that most definitely counted for something.

“It’s okay Jon, they’ve gone, they’re dead. It’s okay.”

It was abso-fucking-lutely not okay but what else was he supposed to do? He let Jon cry a little longer before trying to ease him off. Jon scrambled to keep the contact.

Very gently Tim took Jon’s tear-streaked face in trembling hands, and spoke with a calm he wasn’t feeling, “Jon, I know it’s fucking horrible and you’re scared, Boss, I’m fucking shit-scared too but we need to leave. Come on, I’ll help you get your kit on but we’ve got to go. Okay? Please? Just breathe okay? It’s going to be alright.”

Jon was so far past coherence at this point, tears continuing to pour down his face. It was too much, everything, from Prentiss to now and everything in between. It all hurt so much, and he felt so powerless, he couldn’t stop any of it. For the first time in a very, very long time Jon wished he still had parents.

Tim’s heart broke at the state of Jon. His asshole of a boss was wrecked. Completely and utterly. No more shields of snark or scepticism or aloofness. Just this. He’d wondered absently what it must look like for someone pushed past all endurance to finally break. Well, now he knew the answer.

An answer he got the feeling he was going to get a second, closer look at the next time he had to face himself in the mirror.

“Stoker! Come on, shut him up, get him dressed, we need to leave.”

Tim resisted the urge to flip Daisy off and tell her what a callous bitch she was being. She had just saved them after all but Jon was pretty much having what was clearly a long overdue breakdown and Tim was right behind him.

Fuck it all.

With a reserve he didn’t know he possessed he gently brushed some of the tears still falling from Jon’s face, “Boss, we’ve got to go, come on, breathe with me, breathe with me and we can get the fuck out of here and I promise, _promise_ , the second we are out of sight of Detective Tonner you can get all of this out of you. I’ll join you. But right now we have to get our shit together and leave.”

Tim held Jon’s face, exaggerating his breathing until Jon started to copy him, “yes, good, keep going, keep breathing, we’re safe, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

It took Jon a minute to come back to himself, part of him was mortified he was clinging to Tim in a death grip but the rest of him was just so tired. What was one more humiliation at this point?

“Good, that’s good boss, here’s your stuff. Get it on and we can change properly back at the archives.”

God he was still _undressed_. Fresh tears sprang into Jon’s eyes but he willed them away this time. Later. When he was alone. They had to leave.

Tim backed up to give him space but offered a steadying hand as Jon dragged his ruined clothes over his far-too skinny frame. Jon took it without thinking.

Once dressed as well as he could be the pair made their way over to Daisy.

“Took you long enough.”

Tim leapt to their defence, “Yeah well, hard figuring out which is head hole and which is gap torn by horrific murder mannequins.”

Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Speaking off, are they dead?”

“Yes.”

“What’ll happen?”

“I’ll get rid of them.”

“Okay.”

“How did you find us?” Asked Jon quietly, voice still trembling.

“You weren’t back when you said you’d be, Martin said you’d been arguing over where to try for more information. Followed both leads, wasn’t hard to pick up.”

She turned her attention to Tim, trying not to show how much she was enjoying Jon’s discomfort and misery. This had been a lot more fun than she’d been expecting. She’d have to try it out again soon. “Heard you yelling so that clinched it.”

“Oh, well, thanks.” Tim didn’t really know what else to say.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll get you back to the archives then deal with this mess.”

Daisy led them out to her car, neither man noticed they were still holding hands.

The drive was mercifully short and silent.

They headed straight into the archives, thankfully no one else was about on a Sunday evening. No uncomfortable questions to try and dodge from the research dept staff or Rosie.

“Martin? Basira?”

“Daisy?

“Did you find—?”

“Oh My God.”

Daisy led the pair of them into the main area of the archives where the assistant’s desks were sat. Martin and Basira were discussing their current dead ends with their unknowing research.

“Right Basira, you got them? Got to back a deal with some mess.”

“You alright?” Basira ran a quick glance over the three of them, Jon and Tim looked like they were barely standing, that was a problem she’d deal with in a moment. Her first priority was Daisy.

“Yeah, nothing I can’t handle, was five of the strangers. Mannequins, grabbed these two. Roughed them up a bit but nothing they won’t mend.”

“You want a rest? Tea?”

“No, want to get it done now, before others find the spot.”

“Okay, be safe.” Basira coaxed her face into her usual firm acceptance of whatever Daisy’s plan was.

“Will do.”

With that Daisy was gone.

What was left was two very, _very_ shaken young men both looking like they’d been through hell. Both in torn clothing, Tim looked more physically hurt whilst Jon looked like he was about to disintegrate.

Martin was positively vibrating with worry.

Right. Basira took charge.

“Okay, break room everyone, Martin get the kettle on. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“We’re, we’re alright Basira.” Jon wanted desperately to escape into the privacy of his office, he didn’t know how long he could keep it together but it was probably going to be minutes and not hours, he could feel the cracks starting. It had all been far too much.

“Okay, Jon, you are an appalling liar, and Tim you need ice packs for your face, it’s already bruising.”

“Oh. Alright.” Tim was too tired to argue.

There was something deeply reassuring about Basira’s no-nonsense approach. Tim could follow that right now. And he’d probably kill for Martin’s tea.

Martin had fled to the kitchen filling the kettle and turning it on before diving into the space he’d used when Prentiss was around. He quickly grabbed all the blankets and pillow that were left folded neatly on the cot and headed back to the break room.

He wasn’t an idiot, he’d read up on first aid, he knew the signs of shock when he saw it, it didn’t look life-threatening but he knew they needed to be warm.

Basira led the pair into the small rec space, making them both sit on the sofa. She didn’t comment on how the pair of them were still holding hands, nor that both of them leaned into each other.

Instead she handed Tim the icepack she’d rescued from the freezer, wrapped in a tea towel. Tim took it gratefully, pressing it to the cheek that wasn’t closest to Jon.

“What happened?” She asked.

Jon opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Tim squeezed Jon’s hand in solidarity, deciding to try and summarise hoping to head off more questions.

“Got shadowed and snatched by Orsinov’s murder dolls, they took an opportunity to take a look at the skin goods they want for unknowing ritual, Jon did his question thing which really pissed the main one off but now we know where it’s happening, wax museum, Great Yarmouth. It’s a dance. The ritual needs dancers and they need specific skins to do it, they want Jon’s because he’s the Archivist but it said they’d planned in case they couldn’t get his, said the previous Archivist and Librarian would do, so, Gertrude and Leitner? We need to check where they were buried. They started on us, complaining about our general dermal quality but Daisy managed to find us in time to get us out. Got some good info I think we should follow up.” Tim was proud he managed to get that all out without his voice wobbling.

Basira nodded, “at least it wasn’t in vain,” she reached out patted Tim’s shoulder in solidarity, not sure of what else she could say. They both looked deeply traumatised.

“Yeah.” He agreed without enthusiasm.

“It’s good Tim, really, this is the breakthrough we needed, I’ll start working on the research, maybe put the outlines of a plan.”

“We should do that together Basira.”

“I know Jon,” Basira turned her attention to the Archivist with professional gentleness, “we will, I’m going to make a start then we can go over what I pull together. In the meantime, do either of you need anything?”

“No, I need to get back—”

“Jon, you need to rest, you’ve both been through something that sounds pretty unpleasant.”

“Nothing worse than usual.”

He sounded too dazed to even start layering resentment into that sentence.

Basira cast an experienced eye over him, Jon usually looked wrecked, like he hadn’t slept for a week, pale and drawn but now he looked positively grey. He was still trembling too, eyes slowly unfocusing.

“Jon, you’re in shock. You need to rest, drink your tea and stay warm.” Basira wasn’t worried enough to make him lay down with his feet on a chair, but it was worth him being warm and sable on the sofa at least.

She fixed him with a discerning eye. “Is there anything else you want to say? I won’t ask again, I don’t want to push, since you both already look like hell but I’m here and I’m listening. You both look like you’ve been through a shredder, and that’s not usual for a run-of-the-mill kidnapping.”

“They wanted to inspect our skin, see how _peelable_ we were.” Jon blanched further as Tim continued. “We weren’t amenable.”

“I see.” Basira softened, no judgement on her face. “I’m glad Daisy dealt with them before they could finish what they’d started.” Basira took a breath, speaking her next sentence with a calm assurance that was left over from her time on the force, “Well if you want to talk later, being a police officer comes with some training.”

Tim got the message loud and clear, Jon just looked lost.

Martin dashed back into the room, panting slightly and full of nervous-very-nearly-full-on-panic energy.

“Martin, excellent thinking.” Basira, grateful for the distraction, plucked the top blanket from Martin’s arms and wrapped it carefully around both men. They clearly weren’t letting go of each other any time soon. “Could you make some tea please? Sugar in everyone’s I think.”

Martin was still staring at Jon and Tim, sat together, not only not arguing but looking like they were only thing keeping the other together. Martin felt a protective rage course through him. If he ever got to face Orsinov he’d make her remember him.

Later.

Rage later.

Right now he was needed, he could make tea and try to help. He could do that, he was good at looking after people.

A few minutes later, well-sugared steaming tea was presented to Tim and Jon. Basira took hers with a small smile, “thank you, I’m going to start pulling together information, I should have something to share soon.” With that she quietly left the break room, closing the door behind her, safe in the knowledge that Martin had the rest of situation in hand. He knew Jon and Tim better. And they really didn’t have the time for them all to stop researching.

Tim pulled himself together to give Martin a ghost of his old charming smile, “thanks Martin, knew your tea making superpower would come in handy.”

“Sure Tim, I can do magic tea and poetry recitals at the drop of a hat.” Deadpanned Martin before his switched his attention to Jon.

“Jon, here’s your tea.” Martin handed the tea over to a still silent Jon, “it’s hot, it’ll help.” Jon took the proferred tea automatically, but made no move to drink it.

“So, um,” Martin desperately wanted to know what had happened and how he could help, “should I ask?”

“I, I, don’t,” It was Martin asking, Martin who was kind and safe and there wasn’t any danger anymore and he was so tired of fronting and—

Martin watched in horror as Tim fractured right in front of him. He grabbed the tea back off Tim before he crumpled, tears starting to escape even as he brought his hands up to hide his face.

“I didn’t stop them, they, they’re the ones who took Danny and I couldn’t stop them taking us. If it wasn’t for Daisy we’d be skinned right now.”

Tim’s distress snapped Jon out of his own trauma-induced daze.

“Tim, Jon’s voice was hoarse from all the screaming, “it, it wasn’t your fault, there, there were too many of them. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“But you tried, you tried to get them to let me go, you fought to try to stop them and you got information out of them. I, I could only watch.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I wasn’t alone this time. I’m just sorry you were dragged into it all.”

Jon was starting to shake now too.

Tim, seemingly having forgotten Martin was still in the room with them turned fully to face Jon, “I’m sorry, I, know, know we have our differences, and they’re, its’ but I’m sorry, I’m, if I could, I’d stopped them, wouldn’t have let them, I didn’t want to watch.”

Jon’s eyes widened, he’d not been paying attention to much of what the mannequin had been saying, far more focused on what it’s hands were doing.

Shame flooded Jon’s face, tears welling once more as he tried to duck away.

“No!” Tim grabbed Jon’s shoulders, making Jon face him, “you’ve got stuff to be sorry for, things to be ashamed of, but not this. Never this. Not your fault. They’re the monsters.”

“Then, then shall we agree to accept that each other wanted none of this to happen, and we are each blameless?”

Tim sniffed, tears still making tracks down his face, “y-yeah, that, that sounds fair.”

“G-good. I, I don’t think I would have tried to compel them without you.”

“Well I wouldn’t have screamed for help loud enough to attract Daisy without you.”

“That was good thinking.”

“So was yours.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted it to stop hitting you.”

“Thought that would been satisfying.”

“Christ!” The first time since the thing had last struck Tim Jon looked angry, “No Tim, no, not ever,” Jon took a shuddering breath, “no, we, since, I, Sasha, I, we’ve not been coping, not well at all. I apologise, to both of you.”

Tim startled at realising Martin had been sat silently through the whole conversation.

“It’s too much Boss, all of it.”

“It is, but, it’ll be better if we work together,” It was hard to say what he meant, truly but, well, now more than even he was aware they were on borrowed time and he wanted them to be alright, he wanted them to survive what was coming more than anything, “I know I’ve been a terrible boss but I wanted to ask if you wanted to be a real team for once,” he fixed them with a pointed stare, “ I can’t, I can’t fix my mistakes but I’m sorry, so sorry for them and I want to do what I can to try to make things better now.”

There was something about the vulnerability on Jon’s face, something neither of them had seen before. Martin would have flung his arms around Jon right there and then if he could but the situation was as delicate and brittle as a sugar shell.

Tim considered Jon, despite his flaws, and there were many, Tim wasn’t squeaky clean either, he could have made better choices, been more supportive, cared more too. And when their backs were literally to the wall, with both the worms and today, well, Jon really did try to protect him. He made his decision.

“Okay, truce?”

The smile Jon gave was one of exhausted hope.

Tim decided to seal it with a hug, remembering how hard Jon had clung to him earlier.

Jon melted into Tim’s arms, any sense of pride long gone. Tim had been there, had seen, and well, drawing away now would undo everything they’d just achieved.

He hadn’t meant to start crying again, he hadn’t cried this much since the night after the incident with Mr Spider. Jon felt the floodgates he’d managed to temporarily barricade to escape the their holding cell crack under the force of everything that had happened since Prentiss invaded, Gertrude, Sasha, Not!Sasha, Leitner, Jude, the kidnapping with everything that happened there and now this? Tim was right, it was just too much.

Jon pretty much dissolved into sobs, great miserable wracking things that sounded like they were escaping after being swallowed down for far too long. Tim held him as tightly as he could. Maybe if he held Jon through his tears maybe he hold himself together too?

He looked up and caught Martin’s horrified expression.

Apparently that’s all it took before Tim was crying again too, he’d been face to face with some of the monsters that had taken his little brother and he’d been powerless to do anything, he’d been forced to watch as his boss had been molested in front of him, threatened with the same and worse and beaten for his attempts to try to stop it all. Tim was so tired. Tired of all the fuckery and the relentless horror that had become their existence. He just wanted to go back to how things were, when Danny was still his adventurous younger brother he was so proud of, when Sasha was Sasha. Still, if all that was on offer was Jon trusting them again and being a united front then he’d take it. He wanted that closeness again. He wanted his friends back.

“Tim, can, can I?” Martin’s made a flaily motion with his hands that Tim barely registered through his blurred vision.

He gave a shaky nod, hoping Jon wouldn’t mind the trust thing being tested so quickly. Martin was surrounding them both in heartbeat, wrapping his arms around the pair of them, holding on for dear life, desperate to try and make things better, to at least make his friends feel a little safer.

Martin wasn’t entirely sure of what had happened but he wasn’t an idiot, the state of their clothes, comments about things not being anyone’s fault, well. It wasn’t too hard to put together. He felt sick. Sick with worry, with rage and with an over powering need to do whatever it took to take down the circus. Both Tim and Jon subconsciously leaned into Martin, taking refuge against his solid form, radiation warmth and softness, replacing the cold hardness of the intruding hands, glad of his presence, holding them together, far more literally than he usually did and very much appreciated for it.

Martin was safe, they, for the moment were safe, and together with the rest of the archives staff would ensure the world continued to be as it was, as safe as could be expected and as clown-free as possible. But right now, there was a sofa, cooling tea and each other. They’d face what was coming together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later Elias was giving Daisy her latest assignment, just as she was about to leave he paused fixing her with a searching look.

“I understand you’ve been extending your hunts.” That was one way of putting it, it was endlessly entertaining to make Jon suffer, served him right for being a creep. It was a shame Stoker got caught as collateral, Daisy didn’t have any particular vitriol against him.

“There’s a lot of clowns to kill.” She answered simply, keeping her face deliberately neutral.

“But you’ve been driving them towards more prey.”

“I can’t help where quarry goes, I just track it.”

“You’re hardly an accomplished huntress if you can’t guide your marks.” Elias’ voice was deceptively civil.

Daisy’s lip curled, “I follow them fine.”

“So they just happened to stumble across The Archivist and Mr Stoker?”

“What can I say? Jon doesn’t have the best luck.”

“Indeed.”

Elias paused before fixing Daisy with his impenetrable glare.

“Daisy, if you do that again you will not enjoy the consequences, you may question what ammunition could I possibly still have left? But please be assured I do not work in such crude a method. I am giving the courtesy of this warning as the encounter did have some benefits, Jon used his compelling effectively and the hostility of interpersonal relationships has eased substantially. But this is my one warning,” Elias’s eyes took on an unnatural glow that made Daisy feel like she was being scrutinised by a stadium glare, something that could be turned up at a moment’s notice to strip her to the bone. “Jon is _mine_ , I will not tolerate others engaging with him, do not test me on this.”

Daisy returned the glare as fiercely as she could before he wore her down, she lowered her gaze first, hating every second.

“Good girl. Now that’ll be everything for today. You may leave.”

Daisy forced herself to walk calmly towards the door even as her heart was pounding. As he hand touched the door knob Elias spoke again.

“Remember Daisy, I’m always watching.”

Once she left Elias allowed himself a satisfied smile, oh yes, his Archivist was shaping up nicely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, first time filling in a prompt but this one really appealed! 
> 
> As promised there is, if not a outright happy ending, a satisfying one. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are deeply loved and appreciated!


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